'All's Well!' by John Oxenham (free novel reading sites txt) 📖

the day is!
  Backs and arms and heads that ache,
  Eyes over-tired and legs that shake,
  And hearts full nigh to burst and break;—
  Oh, it's long and long the day is!
  Week in, week out, not a second to spare,
  But though it should kill us we'll do our share,
  For the sake of the lads, who have gone out there
  For the sake of us others, to do and dare;—
  But it's long and long the day is!

  "Rattle and clatter and clank and whirr,"
  And thousands of wheels a-spinning,—
  Spinning Death for the men of wrath,
  Spinning Death for the broken troth,
  —And Life, and a New Beginning.
  Was there ever, since ever the world was made,
  Such a horrible trade for a peace-loving maid,
  And such wonderful, terrible spinning?

  Oh, it's dreary work and it's weary work,
  But none of us all will fall or shirk.

FLORA'S BIT

  Flora, with wondrous feathers in her hat,
  Rain-soaked, and limp, and feeling very flat,
  With flowers of sorts in her full basket, sat,
  Back to the railings, there by Charing Cross,
  And cursed the weather and a blank day's loss.

  "Wevver!" she cried, to P. C. E. 09,—
  "Wevver, you calls it?—Your sort then, not mine!
  I calls it blanky 'NO.' So there you are,—
  Bit of Old Nick's worstest particular.
  Wevver indeed! Not much, my little son,
  It's just old London's nastiest kind of fun.

  "Vi'lets, narcissus, primroses and daffs,—
  See how they sits up in their beds an' laughs!
  Buy, Pretty Ladies—for your next at 'ome!
  Gents!—for the gells now—buy a pretty bloom!

  "Gosh!—but them 'buses is a fair disgrace,
  Squirting their dirty mud into one's face,
  Robert, my son, you a'n't half worth your salt,
  Or you'd arrest 'em for a blank assault!

  "Primroses, narcissus, daffs and violets,—
  First come is first served, and pick o' basket gets.

  "Garn then and git! Ain't none o' you no good!
  Cawn't spare a copper to'rds a pore gell's food.
  Gives one the 'ump it does, to see you all go by,
  An' me a-sittin' 'ere all day,
  An' none o' you won't buy.
  Vi'lets, narcissus,— … Blimy! Strike me dumb!
  Garn! What's the good o' you?—lot o' dirty scum!
  Silly blokes!—stony brokes!—I'm a-goin' 'ome!"

  And then, from out the "Corner-House,"
  Came two, and two, and two,
  Three pretty maids, three little Subs,
  Doing as young Subs do,
  When four days' leave gives them the chance
  Of a little bill and coo.

  "What ho!" they cried, as they espied
  Flora's bright flower-pot.
  "Hi!—you there with the last year's hat!—
  Let's see what you have got!
  And if they're half as nice as you,
  We'll buy the blooming lot."

  But, as they stood there chaffering,
  Out from the station came
  A string of cautious motor-cars,
  Packed full of lean, brown men,—
  The halt, the maimed, the blind, the lame,—
  The wreckage of the wars,—
  Their faces pinched and full of pain,
  Their eyes still dazed with stress and strain,—
  The nation's creditors.

  The Subs, the girls, and Flora stood,
  There in the pouring rain,
  And shouted hearty welcomes to
  The broken, lean-faced men.
  And when they'd passed, the little Subs
  Turned to their fun again.

  But the biggest heart among them all
  Beat under the feathered hat;—
  "Not me!" she cried, and up, and sped
  After the boys who had fought and bled,—
  "Here's a game worth two o' that!"

  She caught the cars, and in she flung
  Her wares with lavish hand.
  "Narcissus!—vi'lets!—here, you chaps!
  Primroses! dafs!—for your rumply caps!
  My! Ain't you black-an'-tanned!
  Narcissus! vi'lets!—all abloom,—
  We're glad to see you back.
  Primroses!—dafs! Thenk Gawd you laughs,
  If it's on'y crooked smiles.
  We're glad, my lads, to see you home,
  If your faces are like files."

  They thanked her with their crooked smiles,
  Their bandaged hands they waved,
  Narcissus, vi'lets, prims, and daffs,
  They welcomed them with twisted laughs,
  Quite proper they behaved.
  And one said, "You're a Daisy, dear,
  And if you'd stop the 'bus
  We'd every one give you a kiss,
  And so say all of us.
  A Daisy, dear, that's what you are."
  And the rest,—"You are! You are!"

  Then Flora swung her basket high,
  And tossed her feathered head;
  To the boys she gave one final wave,
  And to herself she said,—
  "What kind of a silly old fool am I,
  Playin' the goat like that?—
  Chuckin' of all my stock awye,
  And damaging me 'at?
  But them poor lads did look so thin,
  I couldn't ha' slept if I 'adn't a-bin
  An' gone an' done this foolish thing.
  An' it done them good, an' it done me good,
  So what's the odds if I does go lean,
  For a day or two, till the nibs comes in?
  A gell like me can always live,
  An' the bit I had I had to give.
  An' he called me a Daisy!—aw—'Daisy dear!'
  An' I—tell—you, it made me queer,—
  With a lump in me throat and a swell right here.
  Fust time ever any one called me that,
  An', I swear, it's better'n a bran new hat."

RED BREAST

  I saw one hanging on a tree,
  And O his face was sad to see,—
          Misery, misery me!

  There were berries red upon his head,
  And in his hands, and on his feet,
  But when I tried to pick and eat,
  They were his blood, and he was dead;—
          Misery, misery me!

  It broke my heart to see him there,
  So lone and sad in his despair;
  The nails of woe were through his hands,
  And through his feet,—ah, misery me!

  With beak and claws I did my best
  To loose the nails and set him free,
  But they were all too strong for me;—
          Misery, misery me!

  I picked and pulled, and did my best,
  And his red blood stained all my breast;
  I bit the nails, I pecked the thorn,
  O, never saw I thorn so worn;
  But yet I could not get him free;—
          Misery, misery me!

  And never since have I feared man,
  But ever I seek him when I can,
  And let him see the wish in me
  To ease him of his misery.

OUR HEARTS FOR YOU

  By the grace of God and the courage
  Of the peoples far and wide,
  By the toil and sweat of those who lived,
  And the blood of those who died,
  We have won the fight, we have saved the Right,
  For the Lord was on our side.

  We have come through the valley of shadows,
  We have won to the light again,
  We have smitten to earth the evil thing,
  And our sons have proved them men.
  But not alone by our might have we won,
  For the Lord fought in our van.

  When the night was at its darkest,
  And never a light could we see,—
  When earth seemed like to be enslaved
  In a monstrous tyranny;—
  Then the flaming sword of our Over-Lord
  Struck home for liberty.

  All the words in the world cannot tell you
  What brims in our hearts for you;
  For the lives you gave our lives to save
  We offer our hearts to you;
  We can never repay, we can only pray,—
  God fulfil our hearts for you!

THE BURDENED ASS (AN ALLEGORY)

  One day, as I travelled the highway alone,
  I heard, on in front, a most dolorous groan;
  And there, round the corner, a weary old ass
  Was nuzzling the hedge for a mouthful of grass.
  The load that he carried was piled up so high
  That it blocked half the road and threatened the sky.
  Indeed, of himself I could see but a scrap,
  And expected each minute to see that go snap;
  For beneath all his load I could see but his legs,
  And they were as thin as the thinnest clothes-pegs.

  I said, "O most gentle and innocent beast,
  Say,—why is your burden so greatly increased?
  Who loads you like this, beyond reason and right?
  Is it done for a purpose, or just out of spite?
  Is it all your own treasures you have in your pack,
  That crumples your backbone and makes your ribs crack?
  It is really too much for an old ass's back."

  "Treasures!"—he groaned, through a lump of chewed grass,
  "Are they treasures? I don't know. I'm only the ass
  That carries whatever they all like to pack
  On my load, without thought of my ribs or my back.
  I know there are heaps of things there that I hate,
  But it's always been so. I guess it's my fate."
  And he flicked his long ears, and switched his thin tail,
  And rasped his rough neck with a hinder-foot nail.

  "There are fighting-men somewhere up there, and some fools,
  And talking-men—heaps—who have quitted their stools
  To manage the state and direct its affairs,
  And see, I suppose, that we all get our shares,—
  And ladies and lords, and their offspring and heirs,
  And their flunkeys and toadies, and merchants and wares.—
  And parsons and lawyers,—O heaps,—in that box,
  And big folk and small folk, and all kinds of crocks.

  "That mighty big bale?—Poison, that,—for the people;
  Whatever else lacks they must still have their tipple.
  That's The Trade, don't you know, that no one can shackle,—
  'Vested Int'rests,' they call it, and that kind of cackle.
  Why the Bishops themselves dare not tackle the tipple,
  For it props up the church and at times builds a steeple."

  (A strangely ingenuous old ass, you perceive,
  Whom any shrewd rascal could easily deceive.)

  "That other big bale?—What I said,—fighting things,—
  Ammunition and guns and these new things with wings,
  O yes, they bulk big, but we need them,—for why?—
  If we hadn't as much as the others have—why,
  They say we might just as well lie down and die.

  "Yon big bale on top?—Ah! that is a big weight.
  And that's just the one of the lot I most hate.
  That's Capital, that is,—and landlords and such;
  And there seems to me sometimes a bit over-much
  In that bale. But there,—I'm perhaps wrong again,
  Such matters are outside an old ass's ken.

  "My fodder? Oh well, you see,—no room for that.
  I pick as I go, and no chance to get fat.
  That poison bulks large,—and the landlords, you see;—
  And that Capital's heavy as heavy can be.
  Some one's bound to go short, and of course that one's ME."

  He kicked up one heel with a snort of disgust,
  And—sudden as though by a giant hand thrust,
  The top-heavy pack on his lean back revolved,
  Came crashing to earth, and in fragments dissolved.

  Much surprised,—the old ass, thus set free from his load,
  Picked out a soft spot in the nice dusty road,
  And laid him down on it and rolled in high glee,
  And, as he kicked this way and that, said to me,—

  "Say, Man, I have never enjoyed such a roll
  Since the day I was born, a silly young foal.
  Seems to me, if I'd had half the sense of an ass,
  I'd have long since got rid of that troublesome mass.
  But now that it's down, why—down it shall stop.
  All my life's been down under, but now I'm on top."

  Then he came right-side up, pranced about on his load,
  And kicked it to pieces all over the road.

  And what all this means, I really can't say.
  It may not mean much. But—again,—why, it may.

WINNERS OR LOSERS?

  Unless our Souls win back to Thee,
  We shall have lost this fight.
  Yes, though we win on field and sea,
  Though mightier still our might may be,
  We still shall lose if we win not Thee.
      Help us to climb, as in Thy sight,
      The Great High Way of Thy Delight.

  It is the world-old strife again,—
  The fight 'twixt good and ill.
  Since first the curse broke out in Cain,
  Each age has worn the grim red chain,
  And ill fought good for sake of gain.
      Help us, through all life's conflict, still
      To battle upwards to Thy Will.

  Are we to be like all the rest,
  Or climb we loftier height?
  Can we our wayward steps arrest?—
  All life with nobler life invest?—
  And so fulfil our Lord's behest?
      Help us, through all the world's dark night,
      To struggle upwards to the Light.

  If not,—we too shall pass, as passed
  The older peoples in their time.
  God's pact is sure, His word stands fast,—
  Those who His sovereignty outcast
  Outcast themselves shall be at last.
      So,—lest we pass in this our prime,
      Lord, set us to the upward climb!

CHRIST AT THE BAR

  Christ stands at the bar of the world to-day,
  As He stood in the days of old.
  And still, as then, we do betray
  Our Lord for greed of gold.

  When our every deed and word and thought
  Should our fealty proclaim,
  Full oft we bring His name to nought
  And cover Him with shame.

  Not alone did Judas his Master sell,
  Nor Peter his Lord deny,
  Each one who doth His love repel,
  Or at His guidance doth rebel,
  Doth the Lord Christ crucify.